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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29704632">a breton and an altmer walk into an ancient ruin</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/NoItsBecky_127/pseuds/NoItsBecky_127'>NoItsBecky_127</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Elder Scrolls, Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Banter, College of Winterhold - Freeform, College of Winterhold Questline, Gen, I Can't Believe I Wrote This, Interesting NPCs Mod (Elder Scrolls), Makeup, you know mlm/wlw solidarity? this is the opposite of that</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-03-03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-03-03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-15 17:00:56</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,868</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29704632</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/NoItsBecky_127/pseuds/NoItsBecky_127</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Amelia Castille doesn't like the cold, or close-minded Nords, or chatty elves. But Skyrim has all three. And given the orb she, her teacher, and the aforementioned chatty elf just found in Saarthal, it seems like that's just the beginning of her problems.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Dovahkiin | Dragonborn &amp; Rumarin, Female Dovahkiin | Dragonborn &amp; Rumarin</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>8</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>a breton and an altmer walk into an ancient ruin</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>hi i have no idea what i just wrote</p><p>there will probably be more oneshots about these two idiots but for now enjoy</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Tolfdir doesn’t provide any sort of transportation back from Saarthal, which Amelia thinks is bullshit. Unfortunately, since she doesn’t know teleportation, she’s stuck trudging through the snow to Winterhold with Rumarin, her new high elven companion who’s already getting on her nerves.</p><p>The good news is, her map hasn’t failed her yet and it isn’t starting now. The bad news is, this means she’s got several hours of walking in the freezing cold and snow between her and getting back to the college, and Rumarin seems to be a chatty fellow.</p><p>“So, you <em> do </em>know the way back, right?” he asks after they’ve been walking for about twenty minutes. “Just making sure.”</p><p>“I know where we’re going,” Amelia grunts. “It’s just going to take a while to get there.”</p><p>“Okay, good. Not that I don’t trust you, I just don’t fancy freezing to death in the mountains. Any idea how long it should take?”</p><p>“If we don’t get lost, a few hours,” Amelia says.</p><p>“And if we do?”</p><p>“Then pick a Divine and start praying,” she deadpans. “Good news is, we’re not going to get lost.”</p><p>“Amelia, like I said, I trust you,” Rumarin says. “But I’ve seen a lot of performances in my life, and whenever someone in them got lost, it was right after they said they wouldn’t.”</p><p>“Well, lucky for us,” Amelia hitches up her robes to avoid them getting soaked by a particularly large pile of snow on the path, “this is real life. It doesn’t operate by the rules of what makes for the best story.”</p><p>“Good point.”</p><p>The conversation seems to die from there, which Amelia takes as a gift. Rumarin is as insufferable as he told her he’d be, and unfortunately, she can’t really ditch him now. But she can minimize interaction.</p><p>Unfortunately, about half an hour later… “What <em> was </em>that thing, anyway?”</p><p>Amelia looks back at him. “Why would I know?” She lights a small flame in her free palm in an attempt to warm herself.</p><p>“I don’t know.” Rumarin shrugs. “You’re smart, aren’t you?”</p><p>“Well, yes.” Amelia’s not full of herself or anything, but if there’s one thing she craves (other than knowledge) it’s compliments. “I still don’t know what the massive, spinning orb in the Nordic ruin is.”</p><p>“Not even a theory?”</p><p>She shakes her head. “No. I’ve never heard of anything like it. But the magic emanating from it…that was powerful stuff. If it’s dangerous, it’s <em> very </em>much so.”</p><p>“Well, <em> that </em>doesn’t sound good. And you’re sure you don’t know anything else? You did mention seeing something earlier--”</p><p>“That was nothing,” Amelia interrupts. “Just forget about it.”</p><p>“You sure? The way you and the Nord talked about it, it sounded important.”</p><p>“Well, it isn’t,” she snaps. “Drop it.”</p><p>Something flits across Rumarin’s face for half a second, something like...hurt. Then it’s gone, and he nods. “Understood.”</p><p>She’s not thinking about the spectral figure she saw earlier, the one that seemed to place some sort of <em> responsibility </em> on her. Just like how she isn’t thinking about the rush of power that flowed through her when she brushed her fingers over the strange engravings on that wall, and the feeling that if she learned how to harness it she could become <em> unstoppable</em>. It’s easier to just not think about those things, so she’s Not Thinking About Them.</p><p>She sighs. “Look, someone at the college must know more than I do. We just have to get back there.”</p><p>Rumarin looks at the path ahead. “Easier said than done, it looks like.”</p><p>“Then less talking, more walking.” Amelia takes another glance at her map, just to make sure—yep, they’re still on the right path. “As long as it doesn’t start snowing, we should be okay.”</p><p>The Divines must hate Amelia Castille, because not long after that conversation, the first flakes start landing in her hair.</p><p>“So…we’re still going to be okay, right?”</p><p>Amelia pulls her hood over her head. “Hopefully.” She flicks her wrist, keeping her fingers tense. “That should keep us from freezing.”</p><p>Rumarin looks down at her. “Was that magic stuff?”</p><p>“Sure was. We’ll still be cold, but that’ll keep us shielded from frostbite and stuff. I’ll need you to hold the map, though.” With one hand focused on keeping the spell active, she can’t have the other one holding a map.</p><p>He takes the map. “What should I be reading on this thing?”</p><p>Amelia rolls her eyes. “You don’t need to. Let’s just keep following the path, and if there’s an issue, show me the map. All good?”</p><p>“All good.”</p><p>Ideally, the conversation would end here, and she and her newfound elven companion would make the rest of the journey in silence, with no eventfulness.</p><p>Unfortunately, Amelia has always been curious, and that wins out right now.</p><p>“What’s with the war paint?” she blurts a little while later. “Or makeup, or whatever it is.” It’s war paint—she puts on makeup every day, she knows what it looks like—but it barely qualifies as such. “Like, does it have a meaning, or…?”</p><p>“Well, I was going to go for something more subtle,” Rumarin begins, “like a wyvern mounting a cliff racer, but I thought that people might misinterpret the analogy.” And with one sentence, he’s given her about a dozen questions, namely <em> what in Oblivion is the analogy </em> and <em> on what plane is that subtle</em>. She doesn’t ask them, because he continues, “And besides, there wasn’t enough room on my groin to begin with.” Wow. Even more questions. “So I decided to paint my face instead.”</p><p>Amelia has so many questions. The one she asks is, “And in general? Do you know if there’s any significance to war paint?” She’s never really read up on the sorts of people who wear it.</p><p>“A bunch. Tribal mark for warriors, family crest, people can use it to mean a lot of things. How do you know this isn’t just an artistic splash, or too much makeup?” He smirks, and she decides she hates it.</p><p>“See this?” Amelia gestures to her face with her free hand. “This is makeup. Whatever you’ve got going on there is not. If it is, then I need to do some serious damage control once we’re someplace warm.”</p><p>Rumarin just laughs. “Don’t worry, it’s not. Though if it were, that would say something else entirely about what I do for a living.”</p><p>Amelia can’t help but snort at that. “That would be something. Gangly elven prostitute with a horrific makeup job.”</p><p>“Hey, my war paint is wonderful,” he defends. “And before you ask, my price is a hundred septims, and no kissing on the mouth. Well, okay, maybe once or twice. But no tongue. And no touching my ears. They’re sensitive.”</p><p>She just blinks at that. “I can’t even tell if you’re joking right now. But I’ll pass, either way; I don’t like men. Took you for the sort who did, though.”</p><p>“Oh, but I do,” he clarifies. “Men, women, beasts, goats, I’m not picky.” Goats? And beasts—does he mean Argonians and Khajiit, or is he—whatever. “Although I confess I don’t like billies. I mean, I’d still do it with one, but it would cost extra.” <em> Billies? </em> Dreughs are common back home—who looks at one of those and considers whether they’d like to sleep with it or not?</p><p>“I—what are you—no.” Amelia shakes her head. “What—<em>no</em>. Let’s just—<em>Divines</em>. You’re certainly not the serious sort.”</p><p>“I’m serious about a lot of things,” Rumarin defends. “In fact, I’m absolutely dedicated to not taking life seriously.” Of course. What did she expect?</p><p>“Let’s just keep going.” She considers herself to be intelligent, but every time she talks to this elf, it seems to decrease. Or maybe he’s just confusing. Or maybe both.</p>
<hr/><p>A few hours after discovering the mysterious orb in Saarthal’s depths, the two of them arrive at the entrance to the worst hold in this Divines-forsaken province. She drops the spell—using her magic for so long without a break is draining, and they’re not going to get frostbitten at this point. She’s tired enough already.</p><p>“Welcome to Winterhold,” Amelia says, gesturing unceremoniously. “Jewel of absolutely nowhere. Its only redeeming quality is the college, and even that isn’t enough to fully make up for the <em> everything else</em>.”</p><p>Rumarin looks around. “It’s…not much, is it?”</p><p>“That’s putting it nicely. Come on, Tolfdir said to speak to the Archmage.” Amelia’s not particularly strong, but neither is Rumarin, so she’s able to grab him by the wrist and lead him through the hold without much effort. “And we don’t want to keep him waiting long.”</p><p>The elf blinks. “This is a we situation now? You don’t think they’ll notice I don’t even go here?”</p><p>“I’ll tell them you’re with me,” Amelia says, dismissively. “Visitors are allowed, anyway. You think Tolfdir would’ve let us bring companions on the excavation if they weren’t?”</p><p>“Good point.”</p><p>“Yeah, I make a lot of those.”</p><p>“I’m not talking to the Archmage, though.”</p><p>“Sounds great.”</p>
<hr/><p>It’s a relief to the both of them when the doors to the college swing shut behind them. “Divines,” Amelia mutters. “Thought I’d never feel warmth again.” She turns to Rumarin. “Well, I’ll be back.”</p><p>“I’ll be annoying someone.”</p><p><em> You’ve got that right</em>. She pushes open the door to the staircase to the Archmage’s quarters, and starts climbing.</p><p>Savos Aren appears to notice Amelia the moment she walks in. “Ah, good afternoon...Amelia, was it?”</p><p>She nods. “That’s me, sir. Amelia Castille.” He’s already said calling him sir isn’t necessary, but it’s almost reflexive after years of calling every teacher she’s ever had <em> monsieur </em> or <em> madame</em>. “I need to speak to you about Saarthal.”</p><p>He sighs. “Please don’t tell me that another one of the apprentices has been incinerated. I have enough to deal with right now.”</p><p>Amelia blinks. “Another? What--never mind. Well, no one’s been incinerated yet, but we found something in Saarthal. Tolfdir thinks it’s important.” It’s a pitiful explanation, but she doesn’t know what else to say.</p><p>The Archmage (Archmage Aren? Monsieur Aren? Savos? She isn’t sure how to think of him, or what to call him, for that matter) nods. “Very well. I trust you wouldn’t have come to me were it not significant. Thank you for bringing this to my attention. Tolfdir normally looks after your class, yes?”</p><p>”Yes, sir.” When in doubt, go with <em>sir</em>. “He’s still in Saarthal—he didn’t want to leave what we found unattended.”</p><p>The Archmage hums. “I see. Well, I will need to take a look at this discovery for myself. In the meantime, perhaps you ought to start doing some research on your own. Speak with Urag, the librarian; see if he knows of anything that matches your discovery.”</p><p>“I’ll get on that." Amelia smooths her robes. She's about to turn to leave when the dark elf speaks again.</p><p>"Good work today, Amelia." He opens a drawer, pulling out a staff and handing it to her. "If you find yourself exploring Nordic ruins again, perhaps this will be helpful."</p><p>She takes it with a, "Thank you," and leaves.</p><p>Amelia has never been able to use staffs, and holding it is just a reminder of <em>try again, ma chérie, you can do it</em>. But he praised her—he told her <em>good work</em>. It's generic praise, but it feels warm all the same.</p><p>This is Skyrim, not Daggerfall. No one knows who she is, or what she lacks. She’s just Amelia here, not the Castilles’ daughter.</p><p>It feels nice.</p>
<hr/><p>“Hi. Change of plans. We’re doing research.”</p><p>Amelia finds Rumarin in her dorm, sitting in the chair by her bed. He looks up in surprise when she bursts in. “We had plans?”</p><p>”…well, no,” she concedes. “But if we did, they would—”</p><p>”Wait, I just processed what you said. Research?” Rumarin shakes his head. “Nope. Not happening.”</p><p>"Yes, happening." How did she get saddled with possibly the one high elf who has no interest in magic or books?</p><p>"Aren't you an apprentice? Why is it your job to research it?"</p><p>"Because..." She has no idea. "I don't know. Because we're in Skyrim, and Skyrim is a stupid place." Amelia shakes her head. "I don't ask why I'm supposed to research things, I just research them. You don't have to take part, but that's what I'll be doing. What will you be doing?"</p><p>"Well..." He appears to be mulling over his options. "On the one hand, insanely boring research in an insanely boring library. On the other hand, I think I've started using you as impulse control and I'd probably do something stupid if left to my own devices. On the <em>other </em>other hand, mages."</p><p>"<em>I'm </em>a mage," Amelia points out. "You've been traveling with me for a week. You willingly came with me on an expedition of mages! What do you even have against mages? Also, again, we've been traveling together for a <em>week</em>. How am I already your impulse control?" That's a lot of words at once, she realizes, but Rumarin seems to just bring out a lot of questions in her.</p><p>"I can handle one mage, but more than that is pushing it. I came with you because it sounded a lot more exciting than anything else I have going on. Mages are snotty and tend to think they're better than me. And I have no idea how, but I'm pretty sure you are." Rumarin answers her without missing a beat.</p><p>Amelia blinks. "But--you know what, okay. Okay, sure. Why not, right?" Her sanity is fraying at the ends. "I'll be in the Arcanaeum. You do whatever you please."</p>
<hr/><p>There is no research.</p><p>Amelia returns to her elven companion, still in her dorm, standing now, about five minutes later. "Another change of plans."</p><p>"You're back!" he says. "And I didn't even have the chance to do anything stupid!"</p><p>"Thank the Divines," she mutters. "Anyways, change of plans this time is that the books I need were stolen by an apprentice, and he ran off to Fellglow Keep to join some other mages who left." Amelia angles her head upward to look him in the eye. "Fellow Keep is northeast of Whiterun."</p><p>"I'm sorry, it's <em>where?</em>" Rumarin splutters. "Can't literally anyone else do this?"</p><p>"I mean..." She shrugs. "You don't <em>have </em>to come with. I know this is more than you signed on for, so we could just part ways here, I make the trek alone." <em>Please say yes</em>. Anything to not hear that grating Cyrodiilic accent again.</p><p>"Yeah, you're not getting rid of me that easily. I'm your problem now." He smirks. "For real, though, even if this means I have to do too much walking, it's also the most interesting thing I've seen since I came to Skyrim. So yeah, I'm your problem now."</p><p><em>Dammit</em>. She could just <em>tell him</em> to leave, in theory. But thinking about it, if he leaves, she'll have to fight the defected mages herself, and that's probably a good way to get herself killed. As insufferable as Rumarin is, he's useful in a fight.</p><p>This would be the part where she tells him that they should get going now, as to not waste any time. Unfortunately, the snow is still coming down, and the sun is setting. The thought of trudging back into the mountains so soon makes her miserable. Also, she's starving.</p><p>"Let's go to the inn," she blurts. "We'll set out in the morning."</p><p>"Oh, thank the gods." He breathes a sigh of relief. "I was worried you were about to tell me we were leaving now. If you had done that, I probably would have decided it was time for us to go our separate ways."</p><p>"Duly noted." Whenever she's fed up with him, she'll just start heading someplace in the middle of the night. Boom.</p>
<hr/><p>"Okay, <em>why</em> are you putting on makeup?"</p><p>Amelia starts at Rumarin's voice, smudging her lipstick. "<em>Merde</em>, give me some warning next time! Damn it..." She grabs a rag, wiping away the smudge.</p><p>He shrugs. "I figured you saw me in the mirror. Didn't realize you were that invested in your own appearance."</p><p>"I am." So she's a touch vain. So what? Better vain than ugly.</p><p>"Well, as I was saying, we're not really going into public today, are we? There aren't enough people in Winterhold for any of them to care how you look, and I don't think we'll encounter anyone on the road who cares.”</p><p>”And yet you’re wearing your war paint,” Amelia points out, turning around to face him.</p><p>”Which takes about a minute to put on,” Rumarin counters. “You’ve been in front of the mirror for fifteen.”</p><p>”And fifteen was all I needed,” she responds, putting her makeup into her satchel. “I prefer to look my best. What of it?”</p><p>”Nothing at all,” he says quickly. “Should we get moving? After breakfast, of course.”</p><p>Amelia loops her satchel around her shoulder. “We can eat on the road.”</p><p>Rumarin’s ears droop.</p><p>”Do you want to spend more time in Winterhold than necessary?”</p><p>“…you make a compelling argument,” he admits. “Fine. But I’ll remember this.”</p><p>”Feel free to. Let’s go.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>please comment, i thrive on them</p></blockquote></div></div>
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